by Robert Spina
Another amazing trait Cloakenstrike has incorporated into his shield is yet more amazing magic that he has spent many years studying and mastering. His shield protects him from all Treestriders, growing stronger and thicker from the consumption of young Treestrider horns, but his shield is layered, and the inside layer acts as an insulator. Magic users, especially very powerful ones, give off energy that can be felt even by nonmagic users when they are close to one. It’s almost like an attraction; you just know there is something special about this person. Magic users on the other hand can detect this presence from far away, and many spend a lot of time learning magic to hide and protect this presence from others.
The inside layer of Cloakenstrike’s shield reflects his aura back to him, a very impressive magical spell and most crucial in allowing him to get this far undetected from the elves. This does not protect him completely, but before a user of magic can detect him, they must know his exact location and lock onto him. Once this has been accomplished by an individual, his shield will not protect his identity anymore but so far has worked successfully.
There are elves protecting the Erkensharie stronghold from the trees around the supersized tree and are supremely camouflaged. They have a great sense of smell and very keen eyes, but Cloakenstrike is completely invisible and well aware guards are nearby and moves slowly and silent. He does not want any more confrontation until inside the king’s home, and finally he finds the entrance. There is no visible entrance, but he can feel the magic protecting the entrance and most likely the exit as well. Amazingly, there are no exposed roots around the tree anywhere, but the roots underground must be incredibly large. He scans the surrounding trees with his eyes, looking for elven guards, but they are so well camouflaged and he cannot spot any, but he knows they are there.
He is in a tough situation now. He does not want to linger outside the stronghold. He wants inside quickly, but there is strong magic protecting the entrance, and he has never been able learn about the mostly unknown entrance to this most secretive home. This is a dilemma he knew he would face and would have to challenge when he got to this point. Does he chance forced entry not knowing the traps and expulsion magic in place? Does he try to take hostage an elf and see if this allows him a more smooth entry? Does he try to make a diversion and see if anyone will exit? Does he try to burrow through the tree itself or under the tree? All these thoughts are going through his head, and he knows the time is now and he has to act. The next few hours will determine if Cloakenstrike is the great magic user he wishes to be. In his head, he says, “The hell with it,” and decides on brute force. He has gone silent long enough, and it is time to show off.
He rises midway up the tree so he is in the middle of the branch line and the ground. He is still silent and cautious, but that is about to change. He removes his Treestrider Pendant and Wand of Splintering, which form back to one wand, and puts them safely into his Bag of Holding. His Wood Slicer Sword goes back in the bag as well, and it is time for a new arsenal to be adorned. Cloakenstrike pulls out the Staff of Flame Engulf. This is a very lethal weapon he stole from a vanquished magic user long ago, and its brutal lethality is about to be felt. It has a scabbard and is only about three feet long, looking like a big roman candle, which fits securely to his right side, held up by a belt. He pulls out a Necklace of Intensity. This increases his strength, his stamina, his alertness, and his magical power twofold, and he puts it around his neck. Now he pulls out a prized possession, the Cloak of Reflection. This is actually a long-sleeved black shirt, and when he puts it on, it forms to his body like a second skin and has little sparkles of diamond white throughout it.
He pulls out yet another most prized possession, the Helmet of Missile Deflection. Cloakenstrike has an unbelievable magical arsenal that he has accumulated over the centuries and has worked with his magical items very diligently to be able to combine very powerful items and make sure they work well in conjunction with other items. This is a painstakingly long and thought-demanding process that he has done for centuries. There is no doubt that Cloakenstrike is very deserving of his ability; he can just be so damn ruthless. The Staff of Flame Engulf, when pointed by Cloakenstrike’s hand, will shoot a golf-ball-sized fireball, and when this fireball hits its target, the target is engulfed in flames, burning hotter and hotter until the target is incinerated. The Necklace of Intensity increases the power of himself and all magical items he uses or wears. The Cloak of Reflection reflects any magic cast upon him back on the caster of the magic. The Helmet of Missile Deflection will deflect any projectile that is thrown, spit, shot, flung, cast, or fired upon him. He is truly indestructible.
He readies himself and puts the Cloak of Reflection on last because this negates his invisibility spell. He puts on the cloak and begins to chant spells. He sends four lightning bolts into the entrance with large destructive explosions and follows them with sixteen magic missiles, collapsing the ground around the entrance, then sends six incinerating fireballs into the entrance, setting all and any vegetation in the area on fire and melting the earth, blocking the entrance and exit. To be watching Cloakenstrike from the surrounding trees is spectacular. As soon as he became visible with his black shirt shining diamond white and his golden helmet sparkling a golden hue, he started to glow magically in purples and reds and white dots as he pointed his hands at the entrance, and four incredibly blue lightning bolts weaseled their way from his hands, exploding and igniting the entrance. And then one after another, red-hot, glowing magic missiles just jettisoned from his fingertips, causing further damage, sending earth and wood hurling in the air. The remarkable fireballs just grow and shoot from his hands, lighting up all the forest a brilliant red as they incinerate the earth at the bottom of the Great Erken tree, setting it on fire.
There are at least a dozen elves watching from the trees, and this amazing spectacle completely consumes their hearts as the power unleashed by one man is clearly devastating the home of their king. Fear initially causes them to hesitate, but that only lasts a few seconds, and they launch a barrage of arrows at Cloakenstrike, which deflect away from him and either strike the large Erken tree or veer off into the forest. Cloakenstrike can now guess where the elves are hiding and lets loose an incredible incendiary flame ball over twenty feet in width, which only expands as it moves into the trees. There are at least six elves that cannot escape the flame and are incinerated.
Now the Great Erken tree and a lot of the forest around it are ablaze, and the whole area is lit up a horribly yet beautiful yellow and red as the forest burns. Cloakenstrike reaches into his Bag of Holding and pulls out a Vullumptom Ax. This ax is light as a feather, but when it strikes wood, it cuts through it like a box cutter cutting through cellophane. Cloakenstrike strikes and hacks his way into the tree with arrows whisking by him, and he pays them no attention. The elves realize he is making his way into the tree and form a more intimate attack on Cloakenstrike. They jump to the tree, two descend from above and two ascend from below; but Cloakenstrike gets his staff, points, and says “Fire” four times in less than ten seconds, and all four elves are hit with little golf-ball flames that in seconds incinerate them, and Cloakenstrike resumes his assault on the tree.
Shandorn enters the throne room where King Estine has gathered his top general and six heavily armed fighters. Sitting on his throne, King Estine addresses Shandorn, “Have you any news of what is happening?”
“Yes, this is very bad. A rogue human magic user is, as I feared, on a quest to steal the Octagemerwell.”
“A human—the humans are attacking Erkensharie?”
“No, not humans, a single human, a most unique and powerful magic user. This is the ancient spell user Cloakenstrike, the bringer of death, the mover of stealth, and the stealer of power.
“A single human dare attack Erkensharie with the motivation to steal the Octagemerwell. Have our bowelves of the trees strike down this magic user.”
“Estine, he has obliterated our bowelves already and sealed
the entrance with powerful magic. Nothing will stop this man except death, and he has prepared well. He has passed the homeland of Erkensharie undetected. He has decimated the Treestriders along the way, and now he enters our home right through its wall. The Great Erken is on fire, as is the surrounding forest.”
The Vullumptom Ax slices through the wall to the throne room, right behind the general and his men. A large explosion of splintered wood engulfs the throne room, leaving all pelted and bleeding from multiple penetrations of different-size wood chips. Cloakenstrike floats into the room, and before he can introduce himself, the great Tenzon draws his sword and attacks the intruder.
Tenzon is large for an Erkensharie elf, standing nearly five feet tall with long blond hair, very unusual among the Erkensharie elves that have dominantly short dark hair. He carries the Wristslicer Sword, a magnificent blade forged of the finest metals on Fargloin, dedicated to the elves by the great Glaborster dwarves. Tenzon unsheathes his sword from its leather scabbard studded with fine metal and swings it skillfully as he approaches Cloakenstrike. The Wristslicer tints red as it slices the air and looks very hard to handle. It is flat and nearly an inch thick on the back side of the sword, thinning all the way to the razor-sharp tip. The width of the sword is about a foot at the hilt and grows narrower all the way to its tip, not even an inch in width. This is a very odd-looking sword, wide at the hilt and the shape of a pyramid growing thinner all the way up. It looks hard to handle and uneven in weight, but Tenzon maneuvers and swings it masterfully and comes across Cloakenstrike’s chest with the blade.
Cloakenstrike has little time to react and suffers a painful gash from above his left nipple down below his right nipple, leaving a deep bleeding wound. Tenzon goes for gold, swinging to release Cloakenstrike’s head from his body. Tenzon pivots his body a full 360 degrees, coming around with his sword now in his left hand at Cloakenstrike’s neck. Cloakenstrike can cast an expulsion spell just by saying the word expulsion, which sends his targets flying like they were hit with a larger-than-life fist, much like the spell Vegenrage cast on Xanorax to stop the Life Stealer from taking his life.
Tenzon is so fast that by the time Cloakenstrike says “Expulsion,” he has come around with the sword, and before he is sent flying into the wall, the Wristslicer has made contact with his throat and leaves a razor-sharp slice in Cloakenstrike’s neck a microsecond before his major artery is severed. The general and his six men are sent crashing into the wall on the other side of the room as well.
Shandorn watches as the wounds inflicted to Cloakenstrike heal up in seconds, and he chants a powerful spell in the Erkensharie language. He casts the Cannonbolt spell on Cloakenstrike—a big mistake. This is like a whaling ship shooting a very large harpoon into a very large whale. Of course, Cloakenstrike’s Cloak of Reflection sends the Cannonbolt back into Shandorn, striking him and staking him to the wall. Cloakenstrike can’t believe his good fortune—exactly what he wanted—and attacks immediately. The stunned elves, all but the king, are too slow to react as Cloakenstrike flies to Shandorn and puts his hands on his face and chants in the ancient Erkensharie language,. “Ireem Andeene Lathalone Stomdeeney Compaleye Rekonproveeney Compel Lekenrek!”
Shandorn’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens wide. The look of fear and torment engulfs his face, and blue mist exits his nose and mouth and enters Cloakenstrike’s mouth. Shandorn’s body shrinks and compresses inward, and his life’s energy is stolen by Cloakenstrike. The only elf not stunned by Cloakenstrike’s expulsion spell is the king, and he attacks the distracted Cloakenstrike. He draws his dagger and jumps at Cloakenstrike, coming down hard just to the left of Cloakenstrike’s right shoulder, sinking the dagger down to its hilt, breaking Cloakenstrike’s concentration in agonizing pain.
The king’s dagger is powerful. It is infused with elven magic that disrupts blood flow and muscle reaction of a struck individual. The king holds the dagger in place with his right hand and wraps his left arm around Cloakenstrike’s neck, knowing that the dagger’s magic will immobilize him quickly. Cloakenstrike chants an inferno spell, engulfing the entire throne room in flames, killing all but Cloakenstrike. The elves in the room are incinerated and so is the king. Cloakenstrike reaches over with his left hand and removes the dagger. He flies out the hole in the wall to avoid the heat, which he is not immune to and will burn himself if he doesn’t get out quickly.
Once outside, he begins to heal as arrows are deflected away from him by his helmet. He keeps the dagger in his hand as yet another of his many stolen treasures. Cloakenstrike chants another inferno, engulfing the surrounding area, because he needs a little more time to heal and doesn’t want any distractions from the nearby elves, and this tactic works, killing more elves. Cloakenstrike heals quickly, thanks to his Necklace of Intensity, and looks at the magical dagger he stole from the now-dead King Estine.
“Shoot,” Cloakenstrike says, looking at the dagger. “The Dagger of Motion Slowing. Damn. I incinerated its sheath. Oh well.” He puts it in his Bag of Holding. The dagger’s sheath kept it magically potent, and without it, its magic will fade. Cloakenstrike is impressed at his ability, and his confidence is unparalleled right now. By taking the life force of Shandorn, the highest, most knowledgeable elven magic user in Erkensharie, he now can gain access to the magic, the power of the Octagemerwell. Cloakenstrike is taken away from his personal admiration as all the flames in the forest go out. The inferno burning in the Great Erken tree is extinguished as well. Cloakenstrike looks to the ground to see many elven bowelves draw and launch their arrows. Nearly one hundred arrows are all deflected into the tree behind him, and he laughs.
“You have lost your king. You have lost your homeland stronghold. Leave now or lose your lives.”
The elves retreat, and silence consumes the air. Cloakenstrike looks around and shrugs. “Hmm.” He looks around for a few moments, anticipating an attack of some sort, but none comes. He floats back into the Erken tree, very cautiously feeling the air with his hands, trying to detect any presence that may be close, but comes up empty. Even if the elves know they are outmatched, he figures they will fight to the end.
Everything in the throne room was made of wood with some gold and valuable gems that have melted or burned into the surroundings. He looks around and can detect no way in or out other than the entrance he created from the outside of the tree. No matter, his goal now is the Octagemerwell. Cloakenstrike has stolen the life force of Shandorn, and this is very different than stealing the life force of a non-magic user. There are no visions, no cravings. The magical energy of one magic user transfers to the essence of the other magic user. Cloakenstrike’s magic automatically increases in strength and power, and since he already has a fluent knowledge of the Erkensharie language, the magic of Shandorn will come to him through simple use of magic. He only needs to experiment a little. He has the foundation, the skill, and the language; he now only needs to use it and see what the effects are.
Cloakenstrike is a spell craftsman and creator; he has devotion and dedication to his craft, and what he has accomplished so far is miraculous. As far as his magical strength and ability, it has grown in power and intensity. Shandorn was, although you may not think so, a very exceptional magic user, and a huge transfer of magical energy has just shifted into Cloakenstrike. This does not go unnoticed. Although there are not a lot of magic users in all the worlds and realms compared to the number of living beings there are, there are still hundreds of them among many different races and species; and when Cloakenstrike stole the magical essence of Shandorn, magical energy reverberated throughout the realms, and many magic users felt this. The stronger, the wiser, and the more adept the magic user, the clearer the signs of what has transpired on this night.
Logantrance, being on the top tier of magical know-how, is well established in magic, well versed, and well acquainted with many magical beings and instantly knows Cloakenstrike has stolen the life of Shandorn. There are many tens of magic users that know this as well. Ma
gic users are a very special breed no matter what race or species they are, and there is always power struggle, just like with any competing forces, to gain power. There are always new ways, new devices, and of course, very ambitious individuals; and Cloakenstrike has just made himself a most distinguishable target.
Logantrance knows Cloakenstrike is one of the most powerful, and he is letting everyone know it. Dozens of magic users throughout the realms and worlds are now waiting the sensation, a powerful magical wave, to hit them. The talk has already begun. Many are anticipating the rise of a new power and what the effects may bring upon them. The reality that the Octagemerwell may be passed to the hands of a human is very serious. The reality is that if the Octagemerwell is passed to the hands of Cloakenstrike, Cloakenstrike will have superior intuition and strength over all elven magic. The fate of elven magic lies in the balance.
CHAPTER 10
The Search for Alluradaloni
Logantrance sits in his home, staring into the fire burning in the center of his study, surrounded by an astonishing library of magical books and the like. He stares motionless into the fire, smoking his long pipe. He has felt this before and knows change is coming. He faced Cloakenstrike to a standoff before, but that was with the help of his teacher Swallgrace, and he remembers the confidence, the outright disregard of others in Cloakenstrike’s quest for power. He remembers how Cloakenstrike was very unique in the sense that he was and is an evil man, but his pursuit for power is not evil. It is ambition.